The Garden of Allah eBook

“’The gazelle
dies in the water,
The fish dies in the
air,
And I die in the dunes
of the desert sand
For my love that is
deep and sad.’

“And when the chorus sounds, as now”—­and
he made a gesture toward the inner room, in which
the low murmur of " Wurra-Wurra” rose again,
“the singer reiterates always the same refrain:

“’No one
but God and I
Knows what is in my
heart.’”

Almost as he spoke the contralto voice began to sing
the refrain. Androvsky turned pale. There
were drops of sweat on his forehead. He lifted
his glass of wine to his lips and his hand trembled
so that some of the wine was spilt upon the tablecloth.
And, as once before, Domini felt that what moved her
deeply moved him even more deeply, whether in the
same way or differently she could not tell. The
image of the taper and the torch recurred to her mind.
She saw Androvsky with fire round about him.
The violence of this man surely resembled the violence
of Africa. There was something terrible about
it, yet also something noble, for it suggested a male
power, which might make for either good or evil, but
which had nothing to do with littleness. For a
moment Count Anteoni and the priest were dwarfed,
as if they had come into the presence of a giant.

The Arabs handed round fruit. And now the song
died softly away. Only the instruments went on
playing. The distant tomtom was surely the beating
of that heart into whose mysteries no other human heart
could look. Its reiterated and dim throbbing
affected Domini almost terribly. She was relieved,
yet regretful, when at length it ceased.

“Shall we go into the ante-room?” the
Count said. “Coffee will be brought there.”

“Oh, but—­don’t let us see them!”
Domini exclaimed.

“The musicians?”

She nodded.

“You would rather not hear any more music?”

“If you don’t mind!”

He gave an order in Arabic. One of the servants
slipped away and returned almost immediately.

“Now we can go,” the Count said.
“They have vanished.”

The priest sighed. It was evident that the music
had moved him too. As they got up he said:

“Yes, there was beauty in that song and something
more. Some of these desert poets can teach us
to think.”

“A dangerous lesson, perhaps,” said the
Count. “What do you say, Monsieur Androvsky?”

Androvsky was on his feet. His eyes were turned
toward the door through which the sound of the music
had come.

“I!” he answered. “I—­Monsieur,
I am afraid that to me this music means very little.
I cannot judge of it.”

“But the words?” asked the Count with
a certain pressure.

“They do not seem to me to suggest much more
than the music.”

The Count said no more. As she went into the
outer room Domini felt angry, as she had felt angry
in the garden at Sidi-Zerzour when Androvsky said: